Old Rose and Silver Part 45

Doctor Jack's mobile face had a.s.sumed an entirely new expression. He put away the card inscribed The Crosby Twins as though it were an article of great value, then leaned out over the veranda railing to catch a glimpse of the two flying figures in white.

"Upon my word!" he exclaimed.

Allison laughed aloud. "You're not disappointed in the twins, are you?"

"If I were going to be run over," remarked the Doctor, ignoring the question, "I believe I'd choose them to do it. Think of the little pagans burning their car and repenting in sackcloth and ashes, not to mention shooting the dogs and living upon penitential fare."

"Poor kids," Allison said, with a sigh.

"Tell me about 'em," pleaded Doctor Jack "Tell me everything you know about 'em, especially Juliet."

"I don't know much," replied the other, "for I came back here only a few months ago, and when I went abroad, they were merely enfants terribles imperfectly controlled by a pair of doting parents."

However, he gladly told what he knew of the varied exploits of the twins, and his eager listener absorbed every word. At length when Allison could think of no more, and the afternoon shadows grew long, they went in.

Consigning his patient to the care of the nurse, the Doctor went down into the garden, to walk back and forth upon the long paths, gaze, open- mouthed, down the road, and moon, like the veriest schoolboy, over Juliet's blue eyes.

Her pagan simplicity, her frank boyishness, and her absolute unconsciousness of self, appealed to him irresistibly. "The dear kid,"

he said to himself, fondly; "the blessed little kid! Wonder how old she is!"

Then he remembered that Allison had told him the twins were almost twenty-one, but Juliet seemed absurdly young for her years. "The world will take her," he sighed to himself, "and change her in a little while so even her own brother won't know her. She'll lace, and wear high heels and follow the latest fashion whether it suits her or not, and touch up her pretty cheeks with rouge, twist her hair into impossible coiffures, and learn all the wicked ways of the world."

The wavy ma.s.ses of tawny hair, the innocent blue eyes, as wide and appealing as a child's, the clear, rosy skin, and the parted scarlet lips--all these would soon be spoiled by the thousand deceits of fashion.

"And I can't help it," he thought, sadly. Then his face brightened. "By George," he said aloud, "I'm only twenty-eight--wonder if the kid could learn to stand me around the house." He laughed, from sheer joy. "I'll have a try for her," he continued to himself. "Me for Juliet, and, if the G.o.ds are kind, Juliet for me!"

His reflections were interrupted by the arrival of the station hack. He instantly surmised that the man who hurried toward the house was Colonel Kent, and, on the veranda, intercepted him.

"Colonel Kent?"

"Yes. Doctor--?

"Middlekauffer, for purposes of introduction. For purposes of conversation, 'Doctor Jack,' or just plain 'Jack.' Never cared much for handles to names. You got my wire?"

"Yes. Who sent you here?"

"Forbes. Down here on the fifth. Met him out in the next State, at an operation. He told me to come, as my business was the impossible. Told me you'd stand for it, don't you know, and all that sort of thing?"

"I'm very glad. How is he?"

"Doing very nicely, all things considered."

"Is there a chance?" the Colonel cried, eagerly; "a real chance?"

"My dear man, until amputation is the only thing to be done, there's always a chance. Personally, I'm very hopeful, though I've been called a dreamer more than once. But we've got him chirked up a lot, and he's getting his nerve back, and this morning I thought I detected a slight improvement, though I was afraid to tell him so. We've all got to work for him and work like the devil at that."

"If work will do it--"

"Nothing worth while is ever done without work. Go up and see him."

At the sound of a familiar step upon the stair, Allison turned deathly white. He waited, scarcely daring to breathe, until the half-closed door opened, and his father stood before him, smiling in welcome. Allison sprang forward, unbelieving, until his hand touched his father's, not cold, as though he had risen from the grave, but warmly human and alive.

"Lad, dear lad! I've come back at last!" Allison's answering cry of joy fairly rang through the house. "Dad! Oh, Dad! I thought you were dead!"

XXI

SAVED--AND LOST

Alternately possessed by hope and doubt, the young surgeon worked during the weeks that followed as he had never worked before. He kept his doubt to himself, however, and pa.s.sed on his hope to the others when he could do so conscientiously. Allison had ceased to ask questions, but eagerly watched the doctor's face. He knew, without being told, just when the outlook was dubious and when it was encouraging.

The doctor did not permit either Rose or Colonel Kent to hope too much.

Both were with Allison constantly, and Madame drove over three or four times a week. Gradually a normal atmosphere was established, and, without apparent effort, they kept Allison occupied and amused.

It seemed only natural and right that Rose should be there, and both Allison and his father had come to depend upon her, in a way, as though she were the head of the household. The servants came to her for orders, people who came to inquire for Allison asked for her, and she saved the Colonel from many a lonely evening after Allison had said good-night and the Doctor had gone out for a long walk as he said, "to clear the cobwebs from his brain."

Because of Isabel, whom he felt that he could not meet, the Colonel did not go over to Bernard's. Allison had not alluded to her in any way, but Madame had told the Colonel at the first opportunity. He had said, quietly: "A small gain for so great a loss," and made no further comment, yet it was evident that he was relieved.

Rose and Allison were back upon their old friendly footing, to all intents and purposes. Never by word or look did Rose betray herself; never by the faintest hint did Allison suggest that their relation to each other had in any way been changed. He was frankly glad to have her with him, urged her to come earlier and to stay later, and gratefully accepted every kindness she offered.

Perhaps he had forgotten--Rose rather thought he had, but her self- revelation stood before her always like a vivid, scarlet hour in a procession of grey days. Yet the sting and shame of it were curiously absent, for nothing could exceed the gentle courtesy and deference that Allison instinctively accorded her. He saw her always as a thing apart; a G.o.ddess who, through divine pity, had stooped for an instant to be a woman--and had swiftly returned to her pedestal.

Sustained by the joy of service, Rose asked no more. Only to plan little surprises for him, to antic.i.p.ate every unspoken wish, to keep him cheery and hopeful, to read or play to him without being asked--these things were as the life-blood to her heart.

She had blossomed, too, into a new beauty. The forty years had put lines of silver into her hair, but had been powerless to do more. Her lovely face, where the colour came and went, the fleeting dimple at the corner of her mouth and the crimson curve of her lips were eloquent with the finer, more subtle charm of maturity. Her shining eyes literally transfigured her. In their dark depths was a mysterious exaltation, as from some secret, holy rapture too great for words.

Allison saw and felt it, yet did not know what it was. Once at sunset, when they were talking idly of other things, he tried to express it.

"I don't know what it is, Rose, but there's something about you lately that makes me feel--well, as though I were in a church at an Easter service. The sun through the stained gla.s.s window, the blended fragrance of incense and lilies, and the harp and organ playing the Intermezzo from Cavalleria--all that sort of thing, don't you know?"

"Why shouldn't your best friend be glad," she had answered gently, "when you have come to your own Easter--your rising from the dead?"

The dull colour surged into his face, then retreated in waves. "If you can be as glad as that," he returned, clearing his throat, "I'd be a brute ever to let myself be discouraged again."

That night, during a wakeful hour, his thoughts went back to Isabel. For the first time, he saw the affair in its true light--a brief, mad infatuation. He had responded to Isabel's youth and beauty and an old moonlit garden full of roses much as his violin answered to his touch upon the strings. "Had answered," he corrected himself, trying not to flinch at the thought.

Even if his hand should heal, it was scarcely possible that he would ever play again, and he knew, as well as anyone, what brilliant promise the future had held for him. He remembered how wisely he had been trained from the very beginning; how Aunt Francesca had insisted upon mathematics, Latin, and chemistry, as well as literature, history, and modern languages.

He had protested to her only once. She had replied kindly, but firmly, that while broad culture and liberal education might not, in itself, create an artist, yet it could not possibly injure one. Since then, he had seen precocious children, developed in one line at the expense of all others, fail ignominiously in maturity because there was no foundation. The Child Wonder who had thrilled all Europe at nine, by his unnatural mastery of the violin, was playing in an orchestra in a Paris cafe, where one of the numerous boy sopranos was the head waiter.

How disappointed Aunt Francesca must be, even though she had too much self-control to show it! And his father! Allison swallowed a lump in his throat. After a lifetime of self-sacrificing devotion, the Colonel had seen all his efforts fail, but he had taken the blow standing, like the soldier that he was. In vain, many a time, Allison had wished that some of his father's fine courage might have been transmitted to him.

And Rose--dear Rose! How persistently she held the new way open before him; how steadily she insisted that the creative impulse was higher than interpretative skill! How often she had reminded him of Carlyle's stirring call: "Produce, produce! Though it be but the merest fraction of a fragment, produce it, in G.o.d's name!" He had noticed that the materials for composition were always close at hand, though she never urged him to work.

He had come gradually to depend upon Rose--a great deal more than he realised. Quite often he perceived the truth of the saying that "a blue- ribbon friendship is better than an honourable mention love." It was evident that Isabel had never loved him, though she had been pleased and flattered by his love for her.